


over here, scotty

by wearethewitches



Category: Star Trek
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Cultural Differences, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Children, Lies, Mild Smut, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-20 16:02:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18995926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearethewitches/pseuds/wearethewitches
Summary: Various Star Trek snippets. Some crossovers.





	1. #saavik mccoy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wherein, Leonard finds Saavik on a planet with a Big Fat Patriarchy and pretends she's his dead little girl, Joanna.

The bourbon swirls in his glass, catching the light. Leonard stares at it, not drinking. _Joss always hated it when I drank without her_ , he thinks and of course, it’s thinking _that_ which causes him to chug the whole thing back, nearly choking on it like a damn teenager. There’s no laughter at his side – no Jim to tease him and smack his back, because Leonard can’t deal with Jim right now.

The PADD in front of him goes dark. Leonard turns it on again. The death notice blares in front of his eyes, the obituary posted to him by his mama. _Clay and Jocelyn Treadway, death by shuttle-crash._ There are some nice words from their co-workers on Risa about Clay’s work ethic and Joss’ dedication to her charity fighting Orion slavers, but Leonard doesn’t care much for either. He thinks if Jocelyn hadn’t died, she would have seen the vicious irony about calling her second husband’s work ethic his primary trait.

 _We split because of my ‘work ethic’_ , Leonard snorts, pushing his empty glass away. He doesn’t feel empty, knowing his ex-wife is dead. There’s a slight twinge – guilt for what could have been, sadness for the death of a girl who asked him to dance in defiance of her parents, grief for another shuttle-crash eight years ago – but other than that…there’s nothing.

Jocelyn has been dead to him for a long time.

“Thanks, Mama,” he mutters to the PADD, before deleting the obituary and sending it off to oblivion. He picks up the bottle of bourbon and pours himself a fresh serving, putting the bottle away afterwards. The last finger goes down slow and steady, the used glass tilted to the air when he’s done.

_Bye, Joss._

His comm chirps excitedly while he’s putting the glass away and Leonard answers distractedly. “McCoy,” he says.

“ _Bones, it’s done,_ ” Jim’s relieved voice comes through.

Leonard straightens, a certain tension leaving his shoulders. “You did it? Well done, you mad bastard!”

“ _I know, right?_ ” Jim breathes, sounding exhilarated. “ _Diplomacy works, sometimes, did you know? The Tarkils are set to officially become members of the Federation in eleven standard days._ ”

“And the laws?” Leonard prompts, thoughts of Jocelyn fleeing his stuffed-up head.

“ _Tweaked._ ” The grimace is clear in his tone. Leonard winces. “ _They’ve got thirty years to line up completely with Federation Law, but for now, their patriarchy has the beginning of a dismantlement in place. Females and non-gendered beings under school-age are exempt from ownership here on out, forever and the death penalty for women under thirty for ‘offensive crimes’ has been struck. I couldn’t get them to go older or include the non-gendered beings._ ”

“You did your best,” Leonard consoles his friend, shaking his head at the mention of some of their backwards laws. “The Tarkils weren’t going to do a one-eighty on all their bullshit. That just leads to bad things later.”

“ _I know, Bones. Still feels like failure, though. Say, you up for a drink?_ ”

“I’m on the next landing party. Can’t afford to be drunk,” Leonard declines, brooding over his next little ‘expedition’ planetside. It’s procedure for new Federation planets to have delegations on the ground constantly, to act as representatives for both Starfleet and the Federation itself during the ‘shifting period’.

As CMO, Leonard is the senior representative for Delta shift on the planet – Jim as Captain is the senior Alpha representative, Spock the Beta representative and Scotty, Gamma. Leonard, in a normal situation, wouldn’t be down at all – that honour would go to Uhura, as Chief of Communications. However, as Tark, home of the Tarkils, has a system still in place that classes non-male beings as property of males rather than independent people, it’s unsafe and unadvisable that Uhura go down as the COC because of her gender.

“ _Good luck with that. When you want to get away from the bureaucracy, take a walk. The scenery is almost Earth-normal, if you ignore the green sky._ ”

Leonard grunts. “Why ‘when’? Why not ‘if’? I’m not completely useless, you know – I can handle a little pig-headed sexism.”

“ _Leonard,_ ” Jim says, voice serious. “ _As your captain, I’m ordering you to take a walk, if not several breaks, away from the Tarkils. They put on an impressive veneer during talks with the admirals and on the Bridge. The real thing is staggering. You’re my best friend and I am not just advising, I am ordering you to take the time to calm down when needed._ ”

“It can’t be that bad,” Leonard mutters.

“ _You’ll see, Bones,_ ” Jim says, voice grim. “ _You’ll see._ ”

* * *

His heart is thumping. His blood is in his ears – _nova fucking stars!_ The _audacity_ , the _sheer nerve_ -

Walking doesn’t do much. Leonard is practically storming through the streets of Tark’s capital city, his uniform and angry demeanour clearing a path. No-one dares approach him, not even for autographs – and he had signed enough earlier that Leonard knows they want to ask. His fists clench and his blood-pressure is still off the charts enough that the officer monitoring his vitals on the _Enterprise_ had emergency-comm’d him to ask if he was okay.

Leonard, of course, had told the poor ensign that _of course he was not fucking okay_ and to get off the comm. Uhura had scolded him a minute later on a second call and he’d wilted enough to pass through an apology to her officer, but once she was gone…his anger just grew back to its former bonfire.

It’s a mistake, going around this way. Leonard loses his way and sense of direction about an hour into his impromptu walk – hardly losing any steam, but becoming uneasy and regaining some of his faculties. The buildings are unfamiliar, thought they look vaguely port-like. _Ships_ , he shudders, watching different warp-capable ships and planet-shuttles depart from a handy balcony. _Bad things come from shuttles,_ he thinks, remembering Jocelyn’s obituary once more.

“You would have liked it here once, Joss,” he mutters out loud, watching the ships come and go. He imagines Jocelyn here with him, baby Jo in a sling against her chest, pointing at the trails in the air, blue against the grass-green sky. Jocelyn had loved taking Joanna to the shuttle-port in Athens, Georgia, with all the cross-continental links and warp-trail clouded sky.

The Jocelyn who died probably wouldn’t have liked it, to be honest. It was the one thing they agreed on when Joanna died in the shuttle-crash – they turned into complete aviophobes afterwards. Leonard has been slowly getting over it since joining Starfleet, but he still feels nauseous when he steps foot in any kind of vehicle with flight capabilities. The _Enterprise_ is his only exception. The _Enterprise_ is a kind of home to him, nowadays.

Reminiscing is how he catches sight of the Orion ship below him. He can tell the difference between the Orion model and the Tark cruiser next to it – _Jim’s infected me with engineering crap!_ – and his eyes snap to agitated group near the hull. He can’t hear them, not this far up, but he _can_ see. The leader snaps at one, slapping him upside the head, brandishing a PADD with a picture of a dark-haired child on it.

Leonard feels that anger inside him change tracks. _Oh no – not in front of me, you don’t._ Vision red, Leonard looks for the nearest elevator down and heads left, along to a promising building built into the various levels of the ‘port.

“Fucking slavers,” he growls, entering the building and heading to the nearest set of Tarkils in uniform. “Oi,” he snaps.

The guards snap to attention. Tarkils are humanoid, all in all, except they’re plant-based and similar to Orions in colouring. However, where Orions are of two distinct homogenous groups, Tarkils are wilder in variety – they have eight recognised genders, thirty-seven major ethnic groups based on chlorophyll levels and long, pointed ears.

“Sir?” one steps forwards.

Leonard points down to the ground. “There are slavers in the ‘port. I just saw them arguing over some lost cargo in the form of a child.”

“Sir, all cargo has to be accounted for and logged before ships come to ground,” the guard states. “Perhaps you are mistaking slavery for ownership.”

Leonard’s rage is eclipsed by his shock. He stares at the guard, astounded by his naivety. The guard waits for him to reply.

“Sir?”

“…ownership of a person _is_ slavery, boy,” Leonard whispers before heading towards the elevators going down.

 _I’m not going to get any help from the Tarkils_ , he thinks, wondering why he thought he’d get assistance from anyone on this planet. _I have to find that kid._ Leonard wishes he could see the PADD closer, so he could get a better idea of what they look like – who knows where they might be, right now? The fact that the Orions were allowed through customs with the child…

 _Has to be a girl,_ Leonard thinks grimly, exiting the elevators and broadening his shoulders. There’s no way for him to blend in here – might as well make use of the rank. _They wouldn’t have gotten away with it if the kid was a boy. Mistaking slavery for ownership – fuck that!_

Spacers eye him up from afar. The Tarkils might only have just joined the Federation, but they’d been hosting other warp-capable races for decades. Orions are the most popular species here – though Leonard sees more than a few Romulans, as well. As close to the Romulan Neutral Zone as they are in their explorations of uncharted space, it’s to be expected.

Leonard finds the Orion ship he saw earlier easily. When they catch sight of him, they rank up, hands on their phasers. Leonard gets to the point.

“Who are you looking for?” he asks bluntly. The leader bristles, but there’s a righteous set to his stance.

“Tarkil Law is clear. Women are property.”

“Shut your mouth,” Leonard wants to roll his eyes, but he’s too wound up, hands stuck behind his back so he doesn’t clench them till they break. “The negotiations are finished. Tark’s to be part of the Federation in less than a fortnight, so you’d better tell your friends scuttlebutt. We’ll be able to crack down on your activities here in eleven days. I won’t ask again: who are you looking for?”

The leader hisses, but steps forwards, showing Leonard the PADD. On it, there’s a picture of a girl who can’t be older than ten. Her pointed ears and greenish-grey skin point to her ancestry, but if a Vulcan child went missing in times like these where Vulcans are endangered, Leonard’s sure the entirety of Starfleet would be on alert.

“Romulan?” he grunts.

“Hybrid. Vulcan-Romulan. She’s been passed along through the Ring for years,” the Orion sneers at him. “Bitch figured her way out six days ago and we’ve still not found her, despite her tracker.”

“Why are you panicking over it?” Leonard asks, motioning up to the balcony where he’d been standing. “You looked like you’d only just lost her.”

“Our boss already got the credits through from her next owner,” they admit, wincing. A victorious grin settles on Leonard’s face, all teeth.

“And you lost her. Well done. When I find her – and I will – she’ll not be going with you to whoever the hell _bought_ her, I assure you. Give me the tracker.”

The Orion practically throws the PADD into his arms and without so much as a backwards glance, Leonard leaves them behind. They wouldn’t dare attack him in public. The Tarkils would turn into a mob and Starfleet would mobilise – it isn’t worth the effort.

 _Where are you?_ Leonard thinks as he turns the PADD to the tracking page. It’s just a dot on a screen, with no map and Leonard realises why they were having trouble, considering there’s four open levels to the capital streets, in some places. If the girl is in the sewers or even high above, they’d never have found her.

He activates his comm, connecting to Uhura. “McCoy to _Enterprise._ ”

“ _McCoy, this is Enterprise,_ ” Uhura greets him. “ _What is it, doctor?_ ”

“I’ve got a PADD on me. Can you transfer a map of the city to it for me?”

“ _Hold on,_ ” she says and there are a few moments of silence, before the PADD turns dark, rebooting with a map on the tracker app. “ _What are you doing with that PADD, Leonard?_ ”

“Orions. A girl escaped from their clutches. I’m her knight in shining armour,” Leonard says, bitterness audible.

“ _God, Leonard,_ ” Uhura mutters, before affirming. “ _Okay, I’m helping you with this. You need to go up two levels._ ”

“On it.”

With Uhura’s help, Leonard speed-walks through the city, getting closer and closer to the girl’s tracker. She’s moving erratically – going slow through alleys and fast through public spaces. When she stops abruptly in the middle of the market, at the other end of the street from him, Leonard’s blood runs cold.

Up ahead, the Tarkil police are surrounding someone.

He forces himself through the crowd, turning off his comm and putting the PADD away in his back-pocket. _She’s just a little girl_ , he thinks frantically, pushing to the front and getting a full look at the child he’s been tracking through the city.

The first thing he notices is how clean she is. Her hair is curly and might need a brush, but her face isn’t dirty and neither are her clothes. She’s just under four feet tall, wearing leggings, boots and a red tunic with a white, fur-lined hood. Leonard’s eyes run critically over her, though and there’s an undeniable loss of weight to her bones figure. Her pointy ears are drooping slightly – a sign of malnutrition in Romulan children.

The universal translator active, Leonard can hear exactly what the guards around her are saying, their gruff voices questioning and brisk.

“What is your father-name?”

“Where do you come from?”

“Show us your Ownership Number.”

The last one is met with a glare, the girl shouting, “I’m going home! You can’t stop me!”

Clearly agitated, the guard nearest Leonard goes to grab her, “You’re coming with us-”

He stops.

Leonard turns him around, the Tarkil’s skin faintly damp under his own, like mildew. Leonard deliberately shoves him out of the circle of guards, aware of the tension rising as it turns on him. But rather than address the guards, Leonard looks to the girl, heart thumping as he speaks to her in his best _Dad Voice_ , imagining this is Jim, after he’s just won a fight that’s broken his ribs.

“Joanna McCoy, get your pointy-eared self over here _right now_.”

The girl stares at him and there’s a trembling in her bones, a wetness to her eyes as she abruptly stumbles forwards. Leonard swoops down, lifting her up into his arms as she starts sobbing into the collar of his uniform. He looks at the guards who’d been standing behind her, terror coursing through his veins – wondering if they’ll believe his fallacy.

They stare him down. “Your Ownership Number for the chattel, sir.”

…and oh _, there’s the rage._

“I’m Federation!” Leonard advances, one arm wrapped around the fake Joanna as the other grabs the collar of the Tarkil who spoke. “You think I _own_ my own daughter? You think that in polite society, slaving other beings from crib to casket is _normal?_ Oh no, not anywhere else, not except Orion and Romulan space. Even Klingons don’t take slaves – only prisoners and indentured servants who owe them debts and their damn _lives_. So no, I don’t have an Ownership Number for you to see, because Joanna McCoy is free and Federation-born.”

The guard reaches for a device at his belt, tapping away on the screen without looking as Leonard _holds his damn collar_ , incensed beyond measure and waiting for something – waiting for _anything_.

“Your- your court date, sir- sir.” The guard holds up a piece of flimsy, printed instructions stamped down, clear for everyone to see. “Proof of Ownership required, either through matching Ownership Numbers or a DNA test, proving the parentage of the chattel in question.”

“A damn _court_ date? What in Gods name are you on about?” Leonard questions, letting go of the guard, watching him stumble back and fix his uniform. In his arms, the fake Joanna is shuddering, hiccoughs audible. Her curly brown hair is puffing up in its bun on her head, getting in his mouth and itching against his skin, but Leonard ignores it as best he can, as if this was really his Jo.

The guard straightens, getting his nerve back, skin going a bean-green. “The Tarkil Street Defence Force may at any time request to see Proof of Ownership for Chattel and issue a court summons if Proof is not shown, to determine the legality of the Chattel’s ownership. Your chattel is under suspicion for several crimes, including thievery, squatting and refusing education.”

“She was trying to survive on an inhospitable planet,” Leonard spits, tightening his hold on her. Fake Joanna similarly increases her grip. “And she’s not _chattel_ , she’s my _daughter_. On my planet, there’s a difference.”

“Not here, sir,” the Tarkil says and for the first time, he sees That Sneer – the one he’s been seeing on the governmental representatives all evening, that accompanied the outrageous sexist commentary to follow.

“I’m going to cut you off there,” Leonard quickly says, voice dangerously quiet. He rips the summons out of the guard’s hands. “I’m going to get this overturned and when I do, I’m going to do my damned best to get you demoted for it. I’m a representative of the Federation. Tarkil Law doesn’t apply to me and mine.”

“There are still the charges of thievery, squatting and refusing education, regardless of the summons,” the guard says.

“And I’ll get off those, too. If anything, the Tarkil Street Defence Force should be charged for dereliction of duty. Joanna was living on the streets for six days and you didn’t notice? A warp-capable society and you can’t even track down a missing child. You should be ashamed of yourselves,” Leonard glowers and his words actually affect the guard, surprise-surprise, because insulting a man’s capabilities always works. “I’m leaving now, by emergency transporter and _you_ can file the report as to why.”

Taking his communicator from his belt, he flips it open and stares the guard dead in the eye. “Chief Medical Officer McCoy to the U.S.S. _Enterprise_ , Flagship of the Federation. I want an emergency beam-up for two, STAT.”

 _I hope you realise how much you fucked up in this imaginary situation where this girl is my Joanna,_ he thinks, still staring at the guard as Uhura confirms his transportation is seconds away. He has enough time to close his communicator before their molecules are rearranged and light fills his eyes. There’s a flash of darkness and then he’s turning from soup to McCoy, arranged as normal in the transporter room of the _Enterprise_.

“Dr McCoy? Who is zat girl?” Chekov on the transporter blinks at them both and Leonard steps forwards, mind working a mile a minute. There are cameras in this room and there is a court-summons in his hand. He doesn’t know how Tarkil Law works, but he’s pretty sure the seizing of video recordings is universal in search of falsity.

Leonard looks to the little girl in his arms and lets a small smile slip onto his face, realising that in a way, he has still saved her. Even if this goes sideways, with her Vulcan blood she’s got immunity from a whole load of problematic situations – including this one.

“Say hello to Miss Joanna McCoy of Athens, Georgia. My daughter.”

From his shoulder, her small head shifts and he meets her eyes as she reaches up, hand pressing to his face. Leonard feels a flash of _happiness/joy/generosity/danger/ **my name is Joanna** /thanks_ and for a moment, he’s at a loss.

Telepathy. She’s telepathic.

A damn powerful one, if he’s reading that thought ‘ ** _my name is Joanna’_** right. Sending words with a single touch means she’s a Class E, at least.

Shit, she really is half-Vulcan, isn’t she? A Vulcan Romulan, not a speck of Human in her – in _Joanna_.

Leonard looks to the summons he has in hands, where he has to prove Ownership of her through either Ownership Numbers he’s revealed not to have or a DNA test – and Leonard really, truthfully realises then, that he’s fucked everything to hell and back.

_I need help._

* * *

Privacy laws dating back to the twentieth century mean that while living quarters aboard Starships may have security cameras, bathrooms do not. When Leonard realises what sort of mess he’s gotten into – including but not limited to kidnapping, lying to law enforcement and acute misappropriation of Starfleet resources from using the emergency transport – he immediately heads to his room, Joanna still clinging to him.

“Octopus child,” he mumbles when he reaches the door. Jim, of course, has perfect timing, meeting him there as he’s typing in his code.

“Bones! What the actual hell?”

“Inside,” Leonard snaps at him, sending a light glare his way before leading his captain into his quarters. Once the door shuts though, Jim doesn’t move from the main space, not following Leonard as he moves towards his bathroom.

 _Follow me,_ Leonard thinks, _follow me, you damn bastard, or I won’t tell you, I swear I won’t!_

“Since when have you had a kid? Since when was your kid- is that kid Vulcan? Since when did you have a Vulcan kid, Bones? And Uhura! She said you were tracking a slave that some Orions lost! What’s going on, Bones?”

“Well, maybe if you let me answer your goddamn _questions_ ,” Leonard snarks, dropping the summons on his desk, “then maybe we can have a conversation.”

Then, ignoring Jim and cutting him out of it all, Leonard goes into the damn bathroom and locks the door.

Joanna relaxes infinitesimally and she’s not so limpet-like when he sets her down on the bench, between the two sinks. Leonard has to share his bathroom with Scotty, who would have put his moonshine still in their bathroom if not for his objections. Leonard is quick to move their electric razors out of reach before he looks at the girl again, full-on.

“I am Joanna McCoy,” she states, voice wobbly, but firm. Her expression is not as blank as a true Vulcan’s might have been, but to Leonard, it’s fine – it’s natural, even. Human children aren’t so supressed when it comes to their emotions.

“There’s no cameras in bathrooms,” he tells her.

“There are cameras everywhere,” she replies. Her posture is perfect, but her hair is still a mess – a mess that Leonard can’t leave alone. He reaches up, undoing the knotted band around her hair and letting it fall around her face.

“You’ve a goddamn lot of hair,” he mutters, grabbing his brush – thankful that he _has_ a brush, because otherwise there’d only be Scotty’s comb and that’d be no good – and starting in on the ends, like Jocelyn used to parrot on about. “Jocelyn, my ex-wife…she didn’t have hands. Her prosthetics weren’t as nice as they could have been, on our salaries. She died, recently. She taught me how to brush hair.”

Joanna hums quietly, leaning into the back of his hand as it brushes her cheek. “I can see her,” she whispers, eyelids sliding shut. Leonard remembers her braying laugh and her scarlet hair, the way she looked when she was daydreaming in class at high school – he focuses on all of that, trying to imprint some kind of memory into her head.

 _It’s a game of pretend,_ he thinks, turning sorrowful. Joanna reaches up to grab his wrist, listening in as he thinks of the real Joanna McCoy, who was a baby when she died. He has a tattoo over his heart, between the lines of ribs along his skin in black ink where her name lies in cursive. _Joanna Eleanor_ , it says.

“Jocelyn Treadway. Mother.”

“Your mother, clever hobgoblin,” Leonard says, brushing more of her hair. It feels strange to be talking so freely – so complexly, so _deviously_ – with a child, who understands his plot and his double-meanings. He doesn’t say _Joanna’s mother_ because she says there are cameras everywhere and while he doubts it, he wants her to trust him. They have to work together, now.

“Is that derogatory, ‘hobgoblin’?”

“Not when I say it.”

“Who do you say it to?”

Leonard pauses, thinking about Spock. Joanna is still holding his wrist, he belatedly realises and in his mind, he firmly asks her to _let go_. Her hand falls to her lap.

“Boundaries,” he says lowly, in his warning voice. “Spock will help you with that, hopefully. He’s a Vulcan-Human hybrid with Class F telepathic abilities. Vulcans usually fall on the Class C-upwards scale and you’ve gotten lucky.”

“I wasn’t always like this. I heard a big scream, like a thousand million people were crying in my ears,” Joanna tells him, swallowing audibly. Her dark eyes – brown, like his – find Leonard’s. “The Orions said it was Vulcan dying.”

“Vulcan died,” Leonard confirms. “It was destroyed by an artificial black hole. Did the scream hurt you? Do you feel…unstable?”

Joanna nods.

“Okay. Definitely recruiting Spock to help,” he says, thinking, _for more things than one_ , before finishing with her hair. He can feel it needs a wash, her curls more frizz than anything after the brushing, but he puts it up in a bun again anyway. “The Orions took you when you were a baby. We didn’t know – they couldn’t find your body on the shuttle after it blew up. I realised who you were when I saw your picture on the Orions’ PADD, because you haven’t changed that much from when you were a baby.”

“Were my ears this pointy?”

“Nope.” Leonard reaches up to poke them simultaneously in jest, subtly checking her reaction. The curled ends from malnutrition don’t twitch when he touches either of them.

 _Sickbay for you, missy,_ he thinks, even as his gut curls at the thought of introducing her to Starfleet’s system without identification. Requisitioning the needed equipment to scan her biology, work out the ratios for nutritional supplements and all her additional shots and immunisations means a hell of a lot of paperwork that, at the moment, he cannot afford until he arranges something for her paperwork.

“Did they grow like this, then?”

“Tri-gene children,” he says in a faux-dismissive voice. “You get a lot of abnormalities. Some genes don’t stick at all.”

Deliberately, Leonard brushes her cheek with his thumb, projecting his thoughts like they taught him in xenobiology for telepathic patients. It takes more effort than he remembers.

_Vulcan or Romulan first? I can’t explain both, not yet._

_Vulcan,_ she replies.

_Okay._

Leonard pulls back, inspecting her clothes and nodding. “I’ll let you use the facilities. Don’t go snooping about – I don’t know what Scotty keeps in the storage.” After getting a perfunctory nod, he lifts her under her arms down onto the floor. “I’m going to go talk to your Uncle Jim.”

“Okay,” she says, repeating his words back at him with his own Georgia inflection. Leonard blinks once at her before his lip tugs at the small grin she flashes him.

“Clever hobgoblin child.”

Leaving the bathroom, he finds Jim sitting on his bed, calmer and deceptively still. Leonard is immediately put on edge, catching sight of the summons on his bed and not on the desk. _He read it_.

“Jim…”

“Explain it to me,” he requests and no, it’s not a request – it’s a demand, tied up nice and tight with a pretty blue bow the same shade as Jim’s irradiated space eyes.

Leonard swallows, before blurting out, “Do you remember why you call me ‘Bones’?”

Jim frowns at the change. “Yes. We were both heading to the Academy – all you had left were your bones.”

“Because my wife took the planet in the divorce,” Leonard rubs his hands together. “I’ve never told you why. You never asked.”

“You didn’t want me to know.”

“I lost her. Our Joanna. We went to her parents for the holidays and my baby sister came and picked her up to take to Georgia for the week so we could spend New Years having drinks for the first time in two years. Joanna was a year old, Marie-Ann just sixteen. The shuttle crashed, went up in flames.”

Jim’s slowly-growing expression of horror is everything Leonard expects and worse. Jim looks genuinely remorseful that he’s making Leonard tell him this – and Leonard just feels guilty that he hasn’t told him earlier than this. _He’s my best friend._

“Joss and I couldn’t cope. I dived head-first into my work, became who I am today and Jocelyn changed her focus, changed her entire personality. She cheated on me with her old boyfriend from before she was with me and divorced me. They got hitched a month later and I left for Starfleet. I told you she took the planet in the divorce and it was true, until the next day,” Leonard gives a false smile, an echo of his old feeling rippling through him. “They bailed. Moved to Risa. She started up a charity against Orion slaving.”

“Bones…” Jim mutters. “I’m sorry. Why…”

“Why’d I never tell you?” Leonard questions, before jumping face-first into his fool scheme. “Because they never found Joanna’s body. The crash was suspect. Sure, we told our families she was dead – it was better than the alternative.”

He’s given Jim enough fact for him to draw his own – untrue – conclusion and Leonard sees when it hits him, why Joss might turn against Orions and why Leonard would go mad tracking a little slave girl.

“She was kidnapped. _Fuck_ ,” Jim says, with emphasis.

“I need this smoothed over, but I need time and discretion. You’re not that person, right now,” Leonard says. Jim raises an eyebrow.

“It’s pretty simple, I would have thought. She’s your kid. DNA test, _tada!_ All yours.”

“Yes, except Joss and I adopted her.”

A beat of silence.

Jim pinches his nose. “Shit.”

“Eloquent as ever, Jim,” Leonard puffs air up into his face, looking at the ceiling and wondering where his plan went. Did he even have a plan? _I’m fucking winging it. Just say some shit._ “Surrogacy. Kids. The parents wanted the chance, but they were jumpy and left us when Joss had a miscarriage scare. Neither of us are related to her, though Jocelyn carried her. So, not _quite_ adoption, but…”

_There. Perfect. The tri-gene child thing can be a back-up scenario. Gene modification is outlawed after all, except among triads and we never registered anything like that. Lies upon lies upon lies. Fuck, Jim, you’re never going to forgive me._

Jim’s perplexed face is worrying, though. “What is she? I saw her ears. I know Humans are kinda…experimental, but we’re not universal surrogates.”

“…Vulcan.” Jim’s brow furrows, like he doesn’t believe it. Leonard blusters on like there’s nothing wrong. “Yes, I know, I know – it was stupid and weird, besides, but we were young and there was money involved. Nothing was planned out legally.”

“And Jocelyn carried her to term?” the captain questions in disbelief, before grinning. “You really are a miracle-worker.”

Leonard looks away, abashed and guilty. “Whatever,” he grumbles. “I don’t forget a face. The PADD-” he takes it out of his back-pocket, chucking it Jim’s way “-has her picture on it. I saw it up close and recognised her. When the Orions said she was a Vulcan-Romulan, I knew.”

Jim brings up the picture. She looks defiant, glaring coldly at the camera with her arms crossed. Leonard wonders if Jim is going to realise Leonard said _Vulcan-_ Romulan, but his friend only flips through the PADD to the tracker section.

“She has a tracker in her,” Jim says, quiet. “Where?”

“If she knew, I think she would have taken it out. She’s clever,” Leonard says grimly. “But Joanna’s dead to the Federation and we- Jocelyn-” Leonard cuts himself off, because there’s no way to say _we registered her as Human_ without somehow admitting to fraud. _Cameras_ , he reminds himself.

“Mind if I call Spock?” Jim asks, “I mean, he’d know better the political status of hybrid Vulcans.”

Leonard’s heart soars. _Thank-you, Jim!_ “Get him,” he encourages. Jim takes out him comm, summoning Spock, the first officer taking a moment before replying in the affirmative. A quiet overtakes the cabin as they wait, before Jim speaks up.

“Do I get to meet her, then? The famous Joanna McCoy…”

Leonard glances at the bathroom, catching sight of the ajar door. His eyebrows knit together, before he barks suddenly, “Eavesdropping? That’s _rude_ , Joanna.”

The door opens and Joanna peeks her head out, glancing at Jim before padding towards him. He notices she’s sans boots and quiet, besides. He lifts her up just as the panel on his door chirps for a visitor. Before he introduces Joanna to Jim, he lets Spock in, who startles at the sight of Joanna so close.

 _Tell him to keep his logic to himself and play along,_ Leonard thinks as he leverages her higher on his hip, her arms around his neck ample opportunity to talk shop before she loosens her hold at his quick addition of _boundaries._

“Dr McCoy…Captain,” Spock looks to Jim. “I assume the child is why I was summoned.”

“Take a look at this,” Jim says, offering Spock the flimsy summons. Leonard watches their hands reach out, lurching as Joanna reaches out to grab it – along with two of Spock’s fingers. The Vulcan man freezes in place and Joanna gasps, before Leonard tears them apart.

“ _Joanna McCoy!_ ” he exclaims, more worried than angry. _Spock’s a trained telepath, what the hell am I doing asking her to pass him messages like Chinese whispers?_ He fusses over her, slightly frantic as Spock beside him shakes, his eyes darting back and forth between them.

Then, Spock spouts out the most darnest bullshit Leonard’s ever heard.

“Leonard, Jocelyn and I were previously in a relationship."

* * *

Christopher Pike is far from impressed.

Leonard knows this, because Spock sent him an untraceable message asking him to backdate a report falsifying Leonard’s claim that the shuttle that killed baby Joanna was in fact brought down by Orions. Pike replied by not only backdating the file, but by sending them a copy of the report, updated/newly-created birth certificates for both Earth and Vulcan, ‘proof’ that Jocelyn had a Romulan grandmother and finally, a grant to pay off the fees produced by Joanna’s crimes on Tark.

This isn’t how Leonard knows Pike isn’t impressed, however. No – it comes from the holo-message he sends to Leonard’s personal comm, saying _Jim could have done it better_ with that awful look of disappointment that Leonard has only ever seen the man express towards his own legs during physiotherapy, like they’re the worst thing in the universe and he expected better. Having it aimed at him is like a sword in his gut, knowing Pike is more than just upset that he’s not included Jim in this, when Leonard should know that when Jim is involved, things usually turn out for the better.

“You’re being unusually cooperative, _Daddy_ ,” Leonard says to Spock in a sour tone, when both men are holed up in his bathroom with Joanna on the Vulcan’s hip. Jim is talking to the Tarkil ambassador for them and they’ve been sent away, as they’re ‘ _emotionally_ _compromised_ ’.

“I have always wished for children,” Spock disagrees, Joanna making a happy sound at his words. “I was told by the Vulcan Science Academy that I would be unable to produce children of my own.”

Leonard grimaces, a sure dread rising as he asks, “How old were you?”

“Seven point four standard years.” Spock looks to Joanna sharply as Leonard flinches. “No. Speak aloud. If you wish to contact me using telepathy, I insist upon a distance of six metres.”

Joanna’s face crumples. “Why?” she asks piteously.

“You yearn for control, yet with control comes discipline. They walk hand in hand,” Spock explains, watching her with unblinking eyes. He goes on, speaking about philosophy and their Vulcan hoodoo interchangeably and Leonard watches them. They’re _mesmerised_ by each other – there’s no other word for it.

For some reason, it makes Leonard unreasonably jealous.

Joanna’s gaze snaps to him, breaking off Spock’s commentary on the act of meditation and she reaches without thinking, like a small child instead of an eight and a half year old; Joanna McCoy might have been nine this year, but _this_ Joanna isn’t quite there, yet. Leonard takes her from Spock. There’s not enough room to do otherwise.

 _You are my father, adoptive or otherwise_ , Joanna says, pressing her forehead to his own. _I have only known you eight point four hours, but I do know that I love you._

Leonard loves hard and he loves fast. Jim and the shuttle-ride to California, Uhura and her immediate trust that Jim was right that first moment on the _Enterprise_ , Christine Chapel and night shifts in the clinic looking after, _oh look, **Jim**_ – hell, even Spock, when they were down on Altamid. Having Spock laugh and quote Shakespeare at him was enough for the last cogs to click into place.

Oddly enough, out of all his other platonic loves, it’s Spock’s that isn’t in the least connected to his relationship with Jim. But it seems another has been added to that new pile of _other loves_ where Joss used to lie and baby Joanna sits in the hollow of his heart.

He thinks to his new daughter fondly. _I love you, too, baby hobgoblin._

_I am not a baby. Do not infantilise me._

Leonard snorts with laughter, shifting to press a kiss to her forehead. “I’d say go back to your lessons on boundaries, but I think we both needed that.”

“I agree. You are not afraid to connect with me.”

“I am not afraid,” Spock denies.

“You _feel_ afraid.”

Leonard raises an eyebrow, “And why shouldn’t he, with you poking through his head? You and me, we trust each other to keep the other out of the fire, but Spock volunteered – and that was _after_ you fell into his Vulcan brain.”

Joanna has the decency to blush, cheeks turning light green.

“I think she gets it, now,” Leonard jokes to Spock, who is staring at him. After a few seconds without it stopping, Leonard starts feeling slightly weirded out. Did he have something in his teeth? “What is it?” he asks finally.

Spock is silent for a long moment, then says, “It would be beneficial for Joanna to have a stabilising presence in the form of a familial bond. As a telepath of growing power, it is essential her mind be constrained, somewhat.”

“You want to bond with her?” Leonard clarifies.

“It would be useful, but I was in fact referring to you, doctor.” Spock says, reaching out and deftly removing Joanna’s hands from the bare skin of his neck. Leonard feels a slight loss, like he’s taken off a layer of clothing keeping him warm, but he trusts Spock’s judgement. “Physical contact would not be necessary for you to evaluate her health this way.”

Leonard’s brow furrows. “Excuse me?”

“Vulcan familial bonds. Parents and caregivers of Vulcan children are _telsu t’kanlar_ or ‘bonded of the children’. It is a familial role usually taken on by the parents and close family members. Joanna has no stabilisation, usually provided by her _telsu t’kanlar_. With such a bond, her _telsu t’kanlar_ would shape her mind and run regular diagnostics to ensure her health and well-being. It is a common practice.”

“So, you’re saying if I had this… _telsu t’kanlar_ with Joanna, I’d be able to check up on her?”

“Given your lack of psionic ability, I would state the negative, however Joanna’s abilities will enhance the bond until her training regime is in place.” Spock states, before placing his hands behind his back and looking at Leonard seriously. “I may have volunteered to act as Miss Joanna’s progenitor, but you are the one to have claimed her. May I have your permission to instigate such a bond between us, before doing the same with you, Dr McCoy?”

Leonard hesitates, looking to Joanna. “Is this okay with you, sweetheart?” Joanna is silent, both mentally and verbally – but she turns around in his arms again, reaching for Spock. Leonard gladly hands her over, watching Spock place his fingers to her meld points, Joanna copying him.

“Let me guide you,” he says, before saying the ominous words. “My mind to your mind. My thoughts to your thoughts.”

Leonard watches them both close their eyes, feeling an almost crackling tension. In his head, he sees flashes of a desert under an orange sky and wonders, incredulous at the notion, if Joanna is projecting. He leans back against the sink, shoulders dropping.

“What am I doing?” he asks himself, muttering absurd expletives under his breath. He waits, tapping his foot and humming old country songs, trying to pass the time. Eventually he sighs, overly exasperated. “How long does it take to do Vulcan voodoo?”

“Not very long,” Spock says, opening his eyes.

“It’s been ten minutes.”

“It’s only been six point seven minutes, Daddy,” Joanna says to him, then and Leonard’s heart just kind of _bursts_ from love. She flashes a toothy smile at him, patting his chest briefly before looking to Spock. “Can I?”

“I must be your bonder,” Spock says to her. “He has no natural psionic ability. It would be fatally detrimental, should you fail. The probability of such an outcome exceeds ninety-seven percent, which I find intolerable. Dr McCoy is a valued member of the crew and more importantly, my friend.”

“I want to try,” Joanna tries to argue, but Leonard knows Spock well enough to know he won’t budge – even Jim listens when Spock calculates his plans have over a seventy-five percent chance of failure.


	2. #alien mccoy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sort of spin-off from another fic I wrote where all the crew from both the Enterprise and the Discovery (from Star Trek: Discovery) end up all together in the movie-verse, called [Persistence](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18754582) for those who want to take a peek.
> 
> Queen Po/Bones=Joanna, some smut, cultural differences, attempted date-rape that Bones heads off bc he's hot when he's angry, Po Is An Alien No Really.

“I once made a supernova in a box.”

Leonard absorbs that as he drinks his whisky, not realising he’s the recipient of said words until his left-hand neighbour leans on the bar, glancing at him over her shoulder. He pauses, putting his drink down slowly.

“…right. That sounds like a disaster in the making.”

The woman – who can’t be much older than twenty-two, _if_ that, because she’s clearly non-human and they can age different – smiles in amusement, eyelids blinking sideways. She sits on the bar-stool next to him, tilting a glass of something bubbly and green and frankly, all Leonard wants to do is figure out whether those blue dots and lines on her face are natural or not.

“It took longer than we needed, at the time, but it worked perfectly,” she replies. “This is my first time on Earth. My friend, Tilly, says that central North America is its own country.”

Leonard snorts. “Well, darlin’, if that was true, I’d be king of the South.” To expediate his point, the barkeeper refills his whisky without so much as a by-your-leave. He lifts it in her direction before downing the lot. “McCoy. Leonard McCoy. We’re an old family, round these parts.”

“Po,” the woman drapes her hand from shoulder to shoulder before offering it to shake. Leonard does so, feeling the slow pace of her pulse under her skin. An impish smile graces her face. “Me Hani Ika Hali Ka Po is my real name, but I’ve found you Humans have trouble pronouncing it without practice.”

“Yeah, I’ll just stick with Po,” Leonard’s lip twitches, before their hands separate and he shifts on his bar-stool. In the back of his trousers, hidden beneath his leather jacket, his phaser shifts and subtly, he moves his hands to adjust it. “How are you finding good ol’ Georgia, then?”

“Your accents are adorable,” she states plainly, getting a chuckle out of Leonard. “Observing you is fun, especially when I get to watch a bar-fight. I’ve been touring.”

“Having fun?”

“Everything is new,” she tells him, those side-ways eyelids blinking again. Her irises are larger than a baseline Human’s and so are her pupils. Now, Leonard’s no expert in xenobiology, but he has a funny feeling that the dim and dark of most Southern bars are going to hide a lot more than usual from her – which is compounded by the fact that a trash hick behind her spikes her drink when she’s not looking.

Immediately, Leonard is on his feet, reaching out, fist smashing into the kid’s face, blood spilling instantly. Po legitimately hisses, hands grabbing at his t-shirt as she twists to look at the little _fuck_ laid out on the floor with a broken nose. _Kinesse’s, fucking sourpusses._

“I _really_ hope I don’t have to bring out my phaser, boy,” Leonard growls, extending his voice so the whole bar can hear. It’s always better to have back-up in situations like these. “What did you think was going to happen when you put something in a girl’s drink? Especially an off-worlder’s – you could have killed her, kid.”

The boy gets to his feet, holding his bleeding face and glaring daggers. His glare drops to Po and she bares her teeth at him, prompting a sudden loss of colour in him. Her grip tightens on his shirt, though and this close? Leonard can feel her shaking.

“Someone call his mama,” he snaps.

“You don’t know my mama,” the boy replies, voice muffled from all the red.

“Oh? I think I know your mama plenty, Reggie Kinesse,” Leonard drawls, feeling his anger slowly rise and rise. “I went to school with your brother. Used to beat each other up behind the science building. Now, from what I can remember, your mama might not have liked me, but she always thanked me when I told her about your brother beating on his boys.”

The kid, seeing he isn’t going to get away with this, starts to run – but another patron trips him and Leonard shares a grim smile with Old Tucker, who gives Leonard a nod before ordering his guys to grab him. The bartender has already grabbed Po’s drink for evidence. Things quieten down quickly after that and Leonard looks down at the tiny woman, who’s still staring after the boy.

“Darlin’, you alright?” he asks quietly, focusing on her. Po doesn’t let go of his shirt, pressed up against him like he’s a wall. _Shock_ , he diagnoses, swinging an arm around her shoulders and walking towards the stairs.

“Take the back room,” the bartender calls. “Make sure she’s okay, McCoy.”

Leonard nods, silent as he changes direction, going through the door under the stairs he’d been planning to go up. Door swinging closed behind him, he leads her to the desk where Old Tucker usually does his side-business, sitting her down on the clean edge.

“Po?” he addresses her, disentangling her hands from blue fabric. He meets her eyes. “Po, what just happened was darn awful and we’ve just met, but know you can trust me. I’m a doctor, Federation-certified and everything, though my xenobiology course didn’t cover whatever you are.”

“Xahea isn’t politically relevant, here,” Po says, voice quiet. “I’m usually surrounded by Starfleet officers or my Royal Guard.”

Leonard forces himself not to react. _Royal what, now?_ “Well, while you’re in the South, I’m here to help, sweetheart.”

Po stares at him, then nods once. Leonard stands for a while, just looking at her. Up close, he still can’t tell whether the markings on her face are natural or not. They go all the way to her clavicle, then stop. _I could just ask,_ he thinks to himself wryly, feeling the adrenaline fading. The anger is still there, though.

“What’s with the facial tattoos?”

“Marks of status,” she says, reaching to trace the dark blue markings that outline the area where her forehead gently protrudes. “I should have them removed, now I am not home.”

“Why? Does being home have something to do with status?”

Po’s hand falls, but her lip twitches with something of a smile. “It’s classified, but rest assured, I am no longer queen, just as you are no king.”

“I think you’re a little bit more legitimate a monarch than me,” Leonard says, but he stares at her anyway. He thinks of the McCoy estate, where he should be managing the affairs of the family, but instead it’s his grandfather doing his dirty work. The McCoy’s are respected in the South – just as much as those damn Hatfield’s.

“Hmm…” she reaches up for his shirt again, fingers delicately tapping their way up to his collar. “You helped me.”

“Yes,” Leonard replies, turning a little more wary. His eyes narrow. “Why did you approach me in the first place? Don’t tell me it was for sex.”

“I won’t tell you, then,” Po replies cheekily and Leonard can’t really help his own bodily response to that. He _can_ try to ignore it, however. Po touches her feet to the ground, still sitting on Old Tucker’s desk as she tilts her head up, nose ring resting on the edge of her lip.

“…let me lock the door, at least.” Leonard decides and Po nods, sitting back again in wait. He turns away, going to the door and locking it both with the electronic lock and the old-fashioned deadbolt. Other systems activate, at that and he turns around, seeing Po’s eyes follow the changes.

“This room is for illegal dealings,” she reasons.

“If it was, I know nothing about it, darlin’,” Leonard says, hanging his jacket up before taking off his shirt. Po’s eyes watch him in interest and as he comes to stand in front of her, he thinks for the first time of Jocelyn – she said she’d meet him here tonight and that they could try and make things work. She hadn’t shown up so far, though and frankly, Leonard’s tired of her indecision.

“I’ve not done this before,” Po then drops a bombshell on him. Leonard raises both his eyebrows in surprise.

“You’re a virgin? You want to lose your virginity to a Human man? Do we even have the right parts?”

“We’re compatible,” Po says, letting out a slight giggle. Leonard grows more alarmed by the second. “Don’t worry about me, Leonard McCoy. I just want some _fun._ ”

“God almighty, what have I gotten myself into?” Leonard asks himself out loud before taking her chin in his hand and guiding her into a kiss. _I don’t even know how old she is. Old enough to buy herself a drink at the bar, at least._ Leonard reminds himself he can ask these things. “How old are you?” he asks, when they part.

“Twenty-two standard years. What about you?”

“Twenty-two,” Leonard replies, surprised. “Are you an adult on Xahea, minx?”

Po tilts her head. “That depends on which sort of adult. I’m not a teenager anymore. My best friend suggested I go by Human definitions because of the similar approximations.”

“Alright, alright, I get it – adult. Are you going to strip or not?” Leonard asks hotly. Po replies by taking off her jacket and then her shirt, revealing a humanoid torso – there’s a distinct lack of belly-button, though. Leonard’s doctoring side itches to ask her how her species reproduces, but considering what they’re about to do, that seems a little rude.

They kiss again. Leonard explores her, just as she does him and when the trousers come off, things get a bit more serious. He watches her pleasure herself – and she’s just like a Human woman, thank the stars – and then Leonard licks her till she comes, nails digging into his shoulders and spikes protruding from her back. The noises she makes…

Leonard’s glad the room is soundproof. That inhuman screeching both chills him and turns him on.

Po’s a reciprocal girl. She uses her hand – which is fine, especially considering those teeth – and when he comes, he presses kisses to her shoulders, sucking till she bruises a dark grey.

“Leonard McCoy…” she pants, grinning at him, “You’re good. I like you.”

“Same here, darlin’,” Leonard smirks, kissing her, putting on a condom and fucking her right there on Old Tucker’s desk. He’s scratched and bleeding by the end from her pointed nails, but they’ve both got their fair share of marks.

“We should do this again, when I come back to Earth,” Po says afterwards, when they’re cleaning up and getting dressed again. Leonard nods, but he’s a little distracted by the mess of fluids on his cock. _The condom’s dissolved. That’s not good._

“I’ll give you my comm number,” Leonard says, trying to disguise the slight shake to his voice. _Po’s an agreeable sort of gal – I think she’d tell me if I got a bun in her oven._

A month later, he’s proven correct.

* * *

“She’s in a larval state, but she’s…changing. Changing very fast.” Po says, staring at the tank of fluid where their baby is floating away, growing. Leonard puts a hand on the glass, feeling the heat of it under his skin. “It’s strange.”

“Not to Humans. We gestate nine, ten months inside our mothers.”

Po makes a face. “It was odd enough passing a fertilised larvae. I can’t imagine having one in my body that long.”

“Each to their own,” Leonard says, still staring. According to the doctor he’d talked with earlier, she’ll be done growing at twenty-two weeks. Xahean’s choose when they want their children to birth, apparently, but the activation itself takes three months. Five and a half seems like a decent middle ground between their species. “We’re going to be parents.”

“Yes.”

She falls quiet for a while after that and Leonard becomes overwhelmed again, thinking through his entire life. He’s a doctor, only just starting in on his career and in a couple of months, he and Po are going to have a live, screaming baby on their hands. Po lives on a starship – that’s where they are right now, on the U.S.S. _Discovery._

“Do you want custody?” he asks her. Po hisses at him, glaring.

“Parenthood is granted by Xahea. You will _not_ leave.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Leonard sends her a glare. “But it’s going to be damn hard for me to be a dad if you’re prancing about through space with her. I have aviophobia – that’s a fear of flying, in space or otherwise! It took you telling me we had a kid for me to come to the damn spaceport!”

“The _Discovery_ is my home and I will not leave her,” Po replies, eyes flashing. “My larvae will stay with me.”

“We’ve got to come to some sort of compromise,” Leonard states.

“Yes. _You_ will. Xahea is no home to me anymore. I cannot go back. The _Discovery_ holds all the family I have in this universe,” Po says and dammit, Leonard feels awful at the sight of her teary eyes.

“Starfleet. Jeez – I’ve heard of poor schmucks making families out of crews, before, but I’ve never seen it.” Leonard looks back at their baby girl – and she _is_ a girl. She’s his girl, Po’s girl – _their_ girl. “Fine,” he says, “you both stay on the _Discovery,_ then _._ ”

“What about you? You’re going to stay with us?”

“I’ll join Starfleet, if it means staying with you both,” he swears. Po looks radiant at his answer and Leonard points a finger at her. “But I’ve got conditions. We’ve got to do this right.”

“Like what? Marriage?”

“Exactly.”

Po stares at him for a while, beady-eyed and thinking. Leonard watches as she looks to the baby and back, before nodding.

“Ours will be an arrangement,” she says, “and our daughter shall grow up to be as kind as you.”

“And as clever as you, Miss Box-of-Supernovas,” Leonard replies, before stepping forwards and laying a kiss on her lips. He’s not as surprised as he should be by how she climbs him, legs curling around his back as he presses her up against a wall, tongue hot against his own.

“I want to call her by a Human name,” Po says with a gasp when they part, breathing heavily. “Will you give her a name, Leonard?”

“Call me Leo,” he says in a gravelly voice, knowing exactly what he wants to call his daughter – he’s always known, ever since his mother was buried under her old peach tree. “Her name’s Joanna – Joanna McCoy.”

“Then Joanna she shall be.”


End file.
